Pulling the Plug

When our baby went into a coma, the moral dilemma began.

by Miriam Luxenberg

What does one do when the smallest flame of human life, a baby, is snuffed out?

I'm not the first person on earth to lose a baby. In times past, a mother could lose her entire brood to sickness, plague, frostbite, or starvation. Death was part of living, and while it wasn't less painful, it was bearable somehow. You knew it was inevitable.

Nowadays, with advanced medicine and high standard of living, we have pushed death to the outer reaches of our consciousness and are absolutely shocked when it comes roaring in.

When our baby was three days old, he stopped breathing in his crib.

Losing a baby is a heart-rending experience. When our first baby was three days old, he simply stopped breathing in his crib. The paramedics were able to resuscitate his heart, but his brain was long gone. He lay in a coma for five months, and died alone in a hospital in a city far away from us.

Many painful issues arose in the face of this trial. One of the most vexing centered around the doctors' consternation as to why we were not "pulling the plug." They thought we were out of our minds for putting ourselves through such suffering.

Part of me agreed with them wholeheartedly. Nothing in my tender existence had prepared me for such gut-wrenching pain. As our baby lay still, day after day, week after week, I thought I would go mad. No one held out hope, and I felt like a drowning person gasping for air. Having a baby is an experience whose entire essence is permeated with hope and potential. When that hope is extinguished, it's like the roof being blown off the house. You can't have hope without a chance for life. It just doesn't work.

MORAL OR NOT?

As time ticked by, the doctors became more persistent about our moral and ethical obligation to "relieve" his and our suffering. This moral dilemma became one of the foremost sources of pain and uncertainty. We were haunted by the thought that we may be somehow acting cruelly by allowing our baby to live, and perhaps suffer needlessly. Yet on the other hand, to "play God" and decree an end to our child's life was too heavy to handle.

For a while we simply stalled for time, hoping against hope for a miracle to heal our son and put an abrupt end to the entire matter: To the doctors it seemed a simple matter. The right thing to do was to pull the plug. But as my husband said after one particular grueling encounter, "This guy is 10 years younger than me and probably took one short course on ethics in med school. Does that make him an authority on what's moral or not?"

We felt that the answer might lay in the Torah. We had become more Jewishly involved, and had found the timeless wisdom of Torah to be an invaluable guide in many difficult situations. But this was literally life and death.

Our rabbi deeply empathized with our plight. He assured us that Torah did indeed offer clear guidance on the subject, but humbly admitted that the answer was beyond his expertise. He gave us the name of a rabbi in New York who was an acknowledged expert in these questions. "If there is anyone in the world who can guide you through this, it is him," our rabbi assured us.

My husband hung up the phone with a look of relief and certainty on his face.

That evening, my husband nervously dialed the number we had been given. I heard him describe the whole situation, going into great medical detail, prompted by the rabbi's thorough questioning. Fifteen minutes later my husband hung up the phone with a look of relief and certainty on his face that I hadn't seen since our whole ordeal had begun. He looked at me and said, "Miri, it's clear. As long as the situation remains as it is, the right thing to do is not to pull the plug."

As he repeated to me the rabbi's rationale and other details, it became clear that this rabbi was as medically sophisticated as any of the doctors we had been dealing with. That put me at ease. But what stood out the most and which inspires me to this day is the way he viewed my baby's life with such depth and sensitivity. He explained that whether we could see it or not, every drop of life has value and purpose in God's vast cosmic plan, and we had no more of an ethical license to end it than we would to end any other "normal" life.

The dignity with which he related to our baby's life brought tears to my eyes, and cut a sharp contrast to the often indifferent and disposable attitude we had encountered from many of the doctors. I felt so grateful that we hadn't bowed under the hospital's pressure to pull the plug. And I realized that it wasn't going to be easy to keep going, but at least we had a clear direction, and I felt strangely calm and resolved knowing that we had a 3,500-year ethical tradition backing up our decision.

When the time came to transfer our baby to a long-term care facility, the doctors, sensing our clarity, pulled us aside one last time. "We've never seen anything like this. We've never seen parents in your situation keep their baby alive, and conduct themselves with such dignity. How do you do it?"

We tried to discuss with them briefly our ideas about faith and belief in a power greater than ourselves. (Luckily they didn’t see me screaming into my pillow every night.)

SHINING SOULS

Our baby died naturally, soon after we transferred him. We had moved him to another, out-of-town facility because the hospital where he had been needed the bed space, and we had not yet relocated to the city where he was. We received a phone call in the middle of the night, a hasty funeral was arranged, and I assumed this chapter in our lives had come to a sad but definitive end.

I didn't realize that although the baby had left the world, a part of his soul remained attached to mine, very much like when we had been physically attached. He never left me. Even though we buried him, I could not forget him.

Every experience I faced afterward included him. Every door I opened admitted him. Every pain or suffering I felt was compared to him and left wanting. In a sense, I became both more vulnerable and more insensitive. Losing a child is like losing a limb that will never grow back, and yet you continually sense its presence even after it's been gone a long time. You learn how to function without it, yet life is never the same.

As the years passed, and our family grew, I was surprised to find my pain increasing rather than decreasing. As the children got bigger, and I grew so fond of them and attached to them, I began to realize what it was I had lost when my precious first born left the world so soon. At the time, I didn't realize what having a child meant. I didn't know what being a parent entailed. It was all theory.

Even though we buried him, I could not forget him.

Now, with these beautiful, shining souls blossoming before me like some wild poppy field run amok, I was shocked again by my loss. Every milestone left me thrilled and drained at the same time, as I experienced everything twice: once for the live child before me, and once for the potential child that was not meant to be.

I worried more than the other mothers, I never left a child unattended for even a moment, and devoted myself completely to the task at hand of mothering.

And yet, I also found myself subject to a curious detachment. "Wait a minute," I told myself. "These little guys could come and go." I sensed at any moment they could be snatched away, and I didn't want to get too close. I never had that easy, almost careless rapport some mothers have with their kids because, for me, there was just too much at stake.

ANCHOR IN THE STORM

I try to imagine what my life would have been like if I had had to face it without the knowledge that God was watching over me every moment, and orchestrating the symphony that is my life down to its last detail. What would there have been to hold on to? Who would have been there to guide us?

Jews don't fall apart so easily.

Looking back, it does seem rather amazing that we were able to withstand such pressure. So much was at stake: the baby's life, our lives, our parents, our new marriage. Everything was hinged and teetering. The doctors and social workers made it clear to us that our marriage could easily fall apart, as many do in this situation. But Jews don't fall apart so easily.

I can clearly see in retrospect that the decision to consult and act upon the Torah's guidance was a major turning point -- an anchor to get us through the storm. I saw how the sensitive yet unequivocal stance of Jewish law saved a precious marriage that could have easily collapsed beneath the weight of an unbearable burden. And I discovered that Jewish law, halacha, which literally means "the path," doesn't merely stop at the pages of the legal codes. It extends itself deep into the human heart.

Knowing we were following this path gave us the strength to withstand our test.

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Visitor Comments: 19

(19)
amber,
October 14, 2009 3:24 PM

I can understand where you are coming from. I has a stillborn angel and it really hurt me that she was gone but i felt relief that she is in a far better place. She was a twin and I still have my precious Ja'Niyah here with me. I love her to death and she means the world to me. RIP SA'NIYAH

(18)
Heather,
December 29, 2001 12:00 AM

In His hands

I was so blessed by your story, as I talk with many women who have lost children. Life begins at conception.
G-d is indeed the author of those lives.
In my own walk with the Father, I believe that all children whose lives are but foot prints upon our hearts, return to the Father who created them.

I was over joyed to hear you did not give into the doctors, to many times
G-d is forgotten, until it is all over and we need someone to blame. His word, is a guide to life, and life to come. It is unfortunate more people do not look to the Torah for guidance. As everything that can happen to us, has already in some fashion happened. We learn from history, without it there can be no hope for future.

Blessings to you and yours.

Sincerely
Another mommy

(17)
Arlene Morgan,
December 27, 2001 12:00 AM

G-d Bless You

You did the right thing under very hard circumstances. I understand how easily a child can be taken from you. I miscarried my first child. Even though I was told by the doctors it was not my fault I still felt like it was something I must have done. I do have a very handsome strapping 18 year old son, but, every day I worry something could happen to him to have him taken from me. I thank G-d every day for letting us have him and pray to G-d to keep him safe and sound. I have a friend who has five children. She lost the oldest in a boating accident and recently another son to cancer. Every day I realize that G-d may decide to take my only child. He will one day, but, I'm hoping my son will lead a full healthly life and outlive us (for selfish reasons). May G-d Bless you and your family and may you find comfort in Him.

(16)
Anonymous,
December 27, 2001 12:00 AM

thank you

(15)
Selina,
December 27, 2001 12:00 AM

I understand

This article touched my soul. I am Christian but I too faced a similar trial. It is good to know that we are not alone as we go through the various trials of life. I have felt God's presence more strongly than ever since I lost my six-week-old daughter to SIDS. He does have a plan for our lives and she was part of the plan for mine. Thank you for this article. It is important ot share that faith in God's Word really can get us through any situation. God bless you.

(14)
Anonymous,
December 26, 2001 12:00 AM

'Hazak-Ve'emats'

This article is great. It sure is a big moral help for people in these situations.

(13)
,
December 26, 2001 12:00 AM

wow!!

wow!! i really admire the way you were able to handle this. i dont know if i have so much bitachon - trust in G-d, that if G-d forbid i was given a really hard test i'd be able to handle it with the grace that you did.

(12)
Rox,
December 26, 2001 12:00 AM

My condolences

Miriam,

I wish to express my condolences on your irretrieveable loss. It seems the time for grieving is not over for you. I don't quite understand it, but I am very sorry and I know G-d will give everything needed.

(11)
Anonymous,
December 25, 2001 12:00 AM

very interesting

i am a new nursing student. we have been taking about these kind of ethical situation for a few weeks. As a Jew i i have been debating about what i would do. should i let my patient suffer or should i go with my Jewish beliefs? i enjoyed ready this article and it cleared a lot of thing for me. thanks.

(10)
Chezi Goldberg,
December 24, 2001 12:00 AM

Your article was simply rivetting.

You told the most painful chapter in your life in a way that will touch countless people deeply. Often we read stories that are sad. It is unusual to read a story that is sad and inspiring at the same time.

Your article is a sharp reminder that we must pay attention to our children NOW and not wait to do so tomorrow.

Thank you for sharing your story with us.

(9)
Anonymous,
December 24, 2001 12:00 AM

Thank You

for sharing your story with us. What pain you have endured! I felt pain myself as I read your story. Whatever my beliefs are about the ethics of pulling the plug, I applaud the fact that you did not take an easy way out but did your best to do the right thing. Sometimes the cost of doing the right thing is your life, literally or figuratively. Your story was a poignant one and once again I thank you for sharing it.

(8)
Anonymous,
December 24, 2001 12:00 AM

I was moved to tears...

(7)
sarah shapiro,
December 24, 2001 12:00 AM

one of the greatest things I've read in years

This is a remarkable piece. I wish the author would give us a book that expands on what she has written here. What a writer.

(6)
Anonymous,
December 24, 2001 12:00 AM

G-d bless you and bring you a smile caused by your live children for every tear you have shed for your lost baby. Your child is watching over you, your husband and his siblings.

(5)
Juan Martin,
December 23, 2001 12:00 AM

Religious homicide.

How beautifully sad but valuable this soul shaking story. Imagine assuming an opposite tack on the child's life. The societies that worhipped gods requiring (by sacerdotal proclamation, since those gods are only malignant hypnotic suggestions) voluntary and involuntary sacrifice of human beings, children in the case of the Punic societies, and adults in the case of the Teutonic and Celtic cults. Your child would have had no value at all. What a difference when Hashem removes something from us, than when idolatry does. Hashem's way increases the value of all life, where the ways of avodah zarah, kill human spirits as well as the bodies. Thank you for sharing this!

(4)
Anonymous,
December 23, 2001 12:00 AM

Technology has changed what can be considered a "natural death"

Before modern technology allowed us to prolong breathing and circulation death would come " naturally ". Now we need to consider whether our technology is prolonging dying rather than preserving any vestige of precious life. In my view, when cognitive function is irretrievably lost and technology only permits the heart to beat, then we are prolonging dying and should withdraw that support. It cannot be in that individual's interest to continue. The challenge is to help the family cope with this intolerable situation.

(3)
Anniteh Shatz (Zahne),
December 23, 2001 12:00 AM

Special Souls

Sometimes a special soul is sent for a purpose that is unknown until sometime later.

(2)
Anonymous,
December 23, 2001 12:00 AM

Reading this brought back so many hurt emotions having gone through a similar experience. One learns to live with the hurt which surfaces periodically.
It does help me to know the babies I lost had very special neshomos that only had to come down for a short tikun. I am told that it is a zechus to go through such difficulties which Hashem only gives to special people. I wish you lots of Koach to keep smiling and enjoy your children

(1)
Nan Wallace,
December 23, 2001 12:00 AM

What a wonderful story...My sister was killed 7 years ago and I believe that it was God that saw my parents through it all..

I've been striving to get more into spirituality. But it seems that every time I make some progress, I find myself slipping right back to where I started. I'm getting discouraged and feel like a failure. Can you help?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Spiritual slumps are a natural part of spiritual growth. There is a cycle that people go through when at times they feel closer to God and at times more distant. In the words of the Kabbalists, it is "two steps forward and one step back." So although you feel you are slipping, know that this is a natural process. The main thing is to look at your overall progress (over months or years) and be able to see how far you've come!

This is actually God's ingenious way of motivating us further. The sages compare this to teaching a baby how to walk. When the parent is holding on, the baby shrieks with delight and is under the illusion that he knows how to walk. Yet suddenly, when the parent lets go, the child panics, wobbles and may even fall.

At such times when we feel spiritually "down," that is often because God is letting go, giving us the great gift of independence. In some ways, these are the times when we can actually grow the most. For if we can move ourselves just a little bit forward, we truly acquire a level of sanctity that is ours forever.

Here is a practical tool to help pull you out of the doldrums. The Sefer HaChinuch speaks about a great principle in spiritual growth: "The external awakens the internal." This means that although we may not experience immediate feelings of closeness to God, eventually, by continuing to conduct ourselves in such a manner, this physical behavior will have an impact on our spiritual selves and will help us succeed. (A similar idea is discussed by psychologists who say: "Smile and you will feel happy.")

That is the power of Torah commandments. Even if we may not feel like giving charity or praying at this particular moment, by having a "mitzvah" obligation to do so, we are in a framework to become inspired. At that point we can infuse that act of charity or prayer with all the meaning and lift it can provide. But if we'd wait until being inspired, we might be waiting a very long time.

May the Almighty bless you with the clarity to see your progress, and may you do so with joy.

In 1940, a boatload 1,600 Jewish immigrants fleeing Hitler's ovens was denied entry into the port of Haifa; the British deported them to the island of Mauritius. At the time, the British had acceded to Arab demands and restricted Jewish immigration into Palestine. The urgent plight of European Jewry generated an "illegal" immigration movement, but the British were vigilant in denying entry. Some ships, such as the Struma, sunk and their hundreds of passengers killed.

If you seize too much, you are left with nothing. If you take less, you may retain it (Rosh Hashanah 4b).

Sometimes our appetites are insatiable; more accurately, we act as though they were insatiable. The Midrash states that a person may never be satisfied. "If he has one hundred, he wants two hundred. If he gets two hundred, he wants four hundred" (Koheles Rabbah 1:34). How often have we seen people whose insatiable desire for material wealth resulted in their losing everything, much like the gambler whose constant urge to win results in total loss.

People's bodies are finite, and their actual needs are limited. The endless pursuit for more wealth than they can use is nothing more than an elusive belief that they can live forever (Psalms 49:10).

The one part of us which is indeed infinite is our neshamah (soul), which, being of Divine origin, can crave and achieve infinity and eternity, and such craving is characteristic of spiritual growth.

How strange that we tend to give the body much more than it can possibly handle, and the neshamah so much less than it needs!